


I Demand Satisfaction

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom!Eames, Guns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur works at a firing range. He's good at what he does, but there's something missing in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Demand Satisfaction

Last night’s thunderstorm had knocked out the power just long enough to throw Arthur's alarm offline, so that he woke up half an hour late and had no time to do anything other than shower, feed the cat, and grab an energy bar before leaving for the range. There was no time to put in his contacts or shave. Arthur didn't like being thrown off his routine, but hey, shit happened.

So it was through his glasses that Arthur saw a gorgeous man in jeans and a gray t-shirt at the rifle counter, across from the rental counter behind which Arthur stood. The man was built, muscular, and broad. A bit shorter than Arthur, he had light brown hair cropped close to his well-shaped head. But it was when he turned around that Arthur saw his fine cheekbones, arched brows (the left slightly more than the right), and the most fantastic full lips Arthur had ever seen. He was openly staring, he realized, as the man approached his counter.

Arthur could sense his pupils dilating. He realized his jaw had gone a bit slack, and he closed his mouth.

The man looked faintly amused, a twinkle in his eyes, and Arthur hoped he wasn't blushing. He straightened his shoulders and adopted an impartial expression. "Can I help you?"

"Er, yeah," the man said, breaking into a charming grin with a touch of shyness, "I was wondering whether you had classes, or... lessons?" in an English accent. Arthur bit his lip. There was a huge sign advertising both group classes and individual lessons on the announcements billboard just across from his counter, but he refrained from pointing it out, just barely. 

"Yes, we do." He picked up a flyer from the stack just in front of him, and handed it to the man, who had beautiful hands, and tattoos on his upper arms. "Classes and individual lessons," Arthur added as the man scanned the flyer, brow creasing prettily, elbows leaning on the counter.

"Do you give the lessons?" the man queried, raising his head to look closely at Arthur, watching his face.

Arthur frowned briefly but didn't look away from the scrutiny. He'd never been asked that before. "Usually," he said with a shrug.

"You know what you're doing, yeah?" The man grinned.

"Yes, I do. I’m the assistant manager and I've worked here for two years."

"Well, all right then." The man looked over the flyer again, tapped his fingers on the counter, and nodded. "Hour-long individual lesson, please." He handed Arthur some cash from a money clip. Arthur took the cash and handed the man a waiver to sign.

"Do you have any prior experience?" Arthur asked, both because he had to and because he was honestly curious. The man had the build of an ex-cop or similar.

"Sorry, no," the man replied, looking slightly abashed. Arthur was mildly disappointed to learn he didn't have police or military experience after all. 

They had to go over safety basics in a side room before they could go into the range itself -- for one, they'd both have to wear hearing protection, making it impractical to try to teach a beginner much on the range. And Arthur was nothing if not practical.

The man, who went by Eames, stood with his (impressive) arms folded, watching Arthur attentively as he listed the three basic rules of gun safety. He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke them aloud. "Always keep the gun pointed in a safe direction. Always keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot. Always keep the gun unloaded until you are ready to use it."

Eames nodded. "I would add," Arthur continued, "that you should treat a gun as if it's loaded at all times. Even if you 'know' it's not, get used to treating every gun as if it were. When you're around other people, such as here, keep the chamber open if you can so they can see it's not loaded." He picked up one of his favorite demonstration handguns, a vintage black nine-shot High Standard Sentinel .22 revolver. "I'm aiming it in a safe direction," he pointed out, "with the safety on, and I'm not waving it around."

Arthur mapped out the parts of the revolver, and showed Eames how to release the cylinder to load it with plastic dummy bullets. He tipped them out, and handed the gun to Eames. "You load it, and then I'll show you how to aim."

Eames, who had been surprisingly quiet in his attentiveness, only asking serious, intelligent questions when needed, picked things up quickly. Arthur was soon explaining the difference between double- and single-action as he cocked the gun and demonstrated stance and aiming. Lining up his sights, Arthur fired a dummy round at the paper target taped to the wall with an impotent _click_.

"Like that. Line up the sights, try to focus on the foresight at the end of the muzzle rather than the target, but keep it all lined up," he said, handing the gun to Eames. He had to admit to himself that he was glad to have an excuse to observe the man closely.

Eames looked a little uncertain as he squinted and fired, frowning. "I'm not sure I've got it," he mused. "Hard to tell where you’re aiming when there's no actual bullet ripping through the target."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, going to stand at Eames' shoulder to try and get an idea for himself. He was interested enough in how Eames was doing to not realize how close he was standing to the man, practically draping himself over him, until after Eames had fired all nine rounds. "I think that was good," he remarked, and Eames turned to smile at him. 

Arthur blinked. "Okay," he said, "if you want, we can go on the range and I can start you out on a .22 rifle. Those are easier for a beginner with live ammo."

Ariadne -- who had arrived while he was helping Eames and who had changed the radio to the pop station -- caught his eye as he and Eames walked to the range door. Her brown eyes were wide and Arthur had never seen her eyebrows that far up her forehead. He shook his head at her and mimed changing the station, and with a roll of her eyes she did, back to the classic rock one, where "Light My Fire" was playing. So, now he had that in his head. He caught Ariadne laughing at him before he picked up two sets of hearing protection muffs and a pair of eye-protection glasses for Eames.

"Once we're in the vestibule," he said, picking up a .22 rifle from another rack, "make sure the outside door is closed before you open the inner one." Eames nodded, and they put on their eye and ear protection. Grabbing a box of .22 cartridges, Arthur led the way through the vestibule to a booth on the end, loud reports from the other booths echoing but muffled.

He had to lean close to Eames to make himself heard, close enough to smell his aftershave. He might have leaned a little closer than he technically had to, but better safe than sorry.

He showed Eames how to load the cartridges, how to check the safety, how and where to hold the rifle. "I can do it first, if you want," Arthur said, sensing his hesitation. 

"All right, yeah." Eames nodded. He and Arthur traded places, with some awkwardness given how small the booth was, and Arthur took off the safety, aimed, and fired. He hit about an inch from the target. 

"Eh," he shrugged, taking another shot, this time about the same distance from the target but further to the left. He emptied the magazine with similar shots.

"Think you can go?" he asked, close to Eames' ear, and Eames nodded. Arthur put the safety on and they traded places again; Eames loaded the magazine. Arthur pressed the butt of the rifle into Eames' shoulder right where it was supposed to be and moved Eames' hand to a different part of the stock without thinking about it, to give him better leverage. "Safety off... keep your finger off the trigger. Line up your sights." And after a breath, Eames fired. He hit as close to the target as Arthur had.

"Good. Again."

Eames fired until the magazine was empty, every shot close enough to the target to impress Arthur, and he said as much. They each took another turn with the rifle, and then Arthur got out the revolver they'd been using. "Load it," he told Eames, and watched the man do so. "Keep your thumb away from the hammer after you've cocked it, like this," he advised, and Eames quickly adjusted. He didn't have to be reminded again, but Arthur kept looking at his hands anyway.

Revolvers were more difficult to aim, and had more of a kick, but Eames took to it quickly, after one shot that was off. "I think you have a natural talent for this," Arthur told him, a hand on the man's back, once all Eames' rounds had been fired. Then it was Arthur's turn, and he got off nine rounds in quick succession, his body unable (and unwilling) to completely shut off his awareness of Eames' proximity.

He couldn't assume Eames was gay, or even bisexual. Sheer statistics said a certain number of men who visited the range were gay, but it wasn't exactly the friendliest environment. Arthur was only out as bi to a handful of people, as needed, and if the topic came up in conversation at the range, he made it clear with as few words and as much steel behind those words as possible that slurs were not welcome there. After a while, regulars learned not to bring it up, period. When it came to Eames, though, it remained to be seen.

Arthur checked his watch as he passed the pistol to Eames. He didn't fire as quickly as Arthur, but he was definitely getting used to it. They had fifteen minutes left, and they went through several targets and the entire box of cartridges by the end. He set the pistol down, chamber empty and safety on.

He tapped Eames' shoulder and he turned to Arthur with a smile, cheeks flushed. "Time's up," Arthur told him, and his face fell a little, grin fading in disappointment. But it was just for a flash. "I liked that. That was fun," he said, and Arthur took up the pistol and the rifle.

Back on the sales floor, Arthur put back the pistol and rifle and the ear and eye protection. "Wash your hands. Lead residue," he told Eames as he put things back up, avoiding Ariadne's eyes, and when Eames was done he washed his hands. When he came back, Ariadne was, of course, talking to Eames, the both of them leaning conspiratorially toward each other, grinning. Arthur cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Ariadne, who went to assist a customer at the semiautomatics counter.

"So, do you have any questions?" he asked Eames, who was looking far too pleased with himself.

"Do you want to go to lunch?" Eames asked right away. Arthur blinked at him.

"I'm on the clock," he began, but Eames waved dismissively. "This lovely young woman here--" he gestured at Ariadne, who was pretending not to pay attention, "says you are due for a lunch break and that she will cover your counter for you."

Arthur could feel himself blushing, the heat spreading up his neck to his cheeks. He cleared his throat and said, glancing around the shop, "I was late this morning and I've got paperwork to do. My manager Dom's waiting on me. I can't go out for lunch." It was Dom's own fault that this paperwork wasn't done, but it was due, regardless, and Arthur had to do it.

Eames smiled. “Are you sure it’ll be a problem?” He pointed to the door, and Arthur turned to see Dom walking toward him, smiling.

“Ah, Arthur,” Dom said. “I see you’ve met our new assistant manager, Eames.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Dom. “What? _I’m_ the assistant manager, Dom.”

Dom didn’t acknowledge his outrage, shrugging casually instead. “And Eames is the new one. I’ve been so busy helping Mal lately, and you’ve been working yourself to death, so I hired someone to help you out.”

“You didn’t tell me you were planning to do this.” It was a struggle for Arthur not to raise his voice, but there were customers around.

Dom frowned, starting to look uncertain.

“He doesn’t even know how to shoot, Dom. I just gave him his first lesson.” Arthur folded his arms.

“Er.” Eames had spoken up, and was rubbing the back of his neck, looking amused and apologetic. “Arthur, I’m afraid I was... well, testing you, actually. I do have experience with weapons. I was a Royal Marine.”

“See, you were in the U.S. Marines, Arthur. Kind of a neat coincidence.” Dom shrugged again, adjusting his shoulder bag. “Did you finish that paperwork?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Dom?”

Eames spoke up again. “I asked Arthur if he’d like to go to lunch and he said he needed to do that paperwork.”

Arthur glared at him. Dom waved vaguely, and started toward his office. “No problem, Arthur, go ahead to lunch. Get to know Eames. Ariadne will take the counter. I’ll do the paperwork,” he said, as though he were doing Arthur some huge favor.

“I’m going to smoke,” Arthur muttered, already on his way out the door.

\-------

Staring off into the distance beyond the shopping center, Arthur was too busy brooding to notice when, his cigarette nearly done for, it was plucked from his hand.

Eames took a deep drag, closing his eyes for a moment, breathing out the smoke in a sigh as he dropped the spent cigarette to the sidewalk.

"We’re going to the sandwich shop across the way," he said over his shoulder to Arthur before going back inside.

Scowling, Arthur crushed the cigarette under his Chucks and followed him inside.

“Ari,” Arthur said, “I’ll take your counter. Go to lunch with Eames.”

Ariadne looked at him as though he’d lost his mind, but Arthur didn’t care. “I’m buying,” Eames told her, as she hopped down from her stool. “Would you like us to bring something back for you, Arthur?” he asked politely.

“Ariadne knows my usual,” Arthur said, not looking up from the forms he was setting out.

“All right,” Eames said gently, as though Arthur were being irrational and Eames were soothing him by treating him with a respectful distance. It was very irritating.

Arthur busied himself for about an hour, trying and failing to keep himself from thinking about Eames. He didn’t, of course, offer to do Dom’s paperwork.

When Eames and Ariadne returned from lunch, they were laughing like old friends. Eames handed Arthur his sandwich and took his bills with a smile, and Arthur thanked him as coolly as he could as he walked back to the breakroom. He took as long as he could eating it before he reluctantly returned to the front, where Ariadne was training Eames on the counter. 

They noticed his return. “Hey, Arthur,” Ariadne said. “Can you train Eames for a second? I have to ask Dom something.” She was on her way back before Arthur could answer. Frowning, he went over to the counter where Eames stood.

“Arthur,” Eames murmured, “I do wish you wouldn’t be in such a strop. We have to work together, you know.”

Arthur raised a finger as if planning to pick up their conversation later, and took his time helping a customer choose a semiautomatic pistol.

As the rest of their shift passed, Eames occasionally attempted to make conversation, but Arthur interrupted him with boring training talk. 

“I’m sorry,” Eames sighed at one point. “We’d been getting on so well. I just wanted to have a bit of fun and thought it would be a good way to test you, Arthur, I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” Arthur didn’t answer. “You’re an excellent instructor, you know. You passed with flying colors,” Eames added in a lower voice, and Arthur looked at him then.

“Thank you,” he said coolly.

At his break, Arthur went outside to smoke. Ariadne came up beside him. “You know,” she said, “Eames seems like a great guy. I hope whatever your problem with him is, you get over it ASAP.”

Arthur shrugged. She rolled her eyes.

\-------

The next day, Arthur shaved and carefully combed his hair back and put his contacts in, but that had nothing to do with Eames, of course.

He got there a few moments before Eames, who brought with him two cups of coffee. He smiled at Arthur, who absolutely did not feel weak in the knees. Once again, Arthur thanked him coolly -- he wasn’t about to refuse coffee -- and went about getting the store ready. Eames joined in, keeping his distance, being polite.

At first, Arthur was glad that Eames wasn’t cajoling him, trying to get them to be friends. By the time customers started showing up, however, Arthur realized he missed it. Eames was talking to some of the guys who tended to come by often, getting to know them and charming them pretty handily. Arthur, overhearing, realized Eames did indeed know what he was talking about. He had a way of getting a point across subtly, suggesting rather than telling, but he was almost always right. Arthur sighed; that wasn’t exactly going to dissuade him from being attracted to him.

The rest of the month continued in a similar fashion. Every morning they worked together, Eames brought coffee for both of them -- just the two of them, them, Arthur noticed -- and was an excellent salesman. He would pick up lunch for all the employees, make a lot of sales with well-informed pitches, and even had started giving lessons. He really had taken a lot of the workload from Arthur’s shoulders. It didn’t make sense to be mad at Eames when he really should be annoyed with Dom.

That said, however, he still felt unsettled by the way Eames had posed as someone who was in need of a lesson in handgun basics. Arthur hadn’t suspected for even a second that he was experienced. If he’d been that good at faking then, maybe he was faking being friendly to Arthur now.

 _Or you could just want to believe that_ , Arthur told himself, _so you’ll feel justified in not taking the risk of being friendly back_. It had been harder to remember lately, but several months ago, Arthur had broken up with a coworker who had made things awkward and ugly before he’d left employment there. Arthur wasn’t eager for a repeat performance.

\-------

When Arthur returned from his smoke break, the store was dead. Eames was at the semiautomatics counter, idly looking over the handguns in the display case. Arthur went over. Eames beamed at him, as if he'd never been so happy to see someone, as if his dreams had come true. "Arthur. I was just wondering which of the semiautomatic pistols was your personal favorite."

Arthur, still a little stunned by that look on Eames’ face, resolved not to blush. "Well," he said, as if considering, even though the answer in his mind was immediate, "I'm partial to the Glock 17." Eames scanned the guns on display; there were quite a few Glock 17s. He nodded, and Arthur took one from the case. He held it out to Eames, who carefully took it and looked it over, then looked at Arthur.

"Can we shoot with it tonight? After we close?”

\-------

"You can do better than that," Arthur said in Eames' ear. 

Eames scoffed, nudged Arthur out of the way, and fired off a succession of shots, clustered around the center of the target. "Beginner's luck," Arthur said dismissively, punching the button that brought the target paper swooping toward them, and putting on a new target for himself. He peppered it with shots clustered right around the center, more or less what Eames had done.   
"You can do better than that," Eames mocked, in an American accent, as Arthur passed him the Glock.

"Shut up," Arthur said as Eames stepped into place. He reloaded quickly, fingers agile.

"So rude," Eames said before ripping Arthur's target through the middle with a series of beautifully placed shots.

"We're going to run out of targets at this rate," Arthur commented. Eames chuckled.

The bag of cartridges was exhausted not too much longer after that. Arthur checked the weapon to make sure it was unloaded. He set it down and took off his hearing protection, and so did Eames, and glancing at the black powder marks and small burns on his hands he realized Eames was pressing him the few inches back to the wall, and kissing him.

He stiffened for a moment in surprise, but Eames pressed a leg firmly between his and made a soft desperate sound against his mouth, and Arthur was stymied for a moment, just long enough for his mouth to open under Eames'.

His hands planted on the wall on either side of Arthur, Eames kissed him as though it was all he wanted out of life, and Arthur's hands went to the soft jersey of Eames' shirt, pulling at it, getting his hands on Eames' smooth, warm skin. Eames jumped against him at the contact, the kiss becoming hotter and rougher then, Eames' tongue greedy for Arthur's and Arthur trying his best to respond in kind. 

Arthur found it difficult to pull himself away. But he broke their mouths apart with a ragged sigh just to give himself a chance to inhale. "Could you," he said, sounding husky and breathless even to his own ears, feeling the corner of his mouth quirk upward, "could you not dry-hump me in our place of employment? We do have security cameras here." Arthur gave Eames' side a hard pinch and Eames' eyes widened in surprise and delight. 

He kissed Arthur again, briefly but firmly. “Surely we can erase the tapes?” He grinned.

Arthur grinned back, and sighed, regretful. He waited a beat, looking at Eames, trying to remember what he was objecting to, exactly. “We can’t do this, you know. We’re coworkers.” _And we just met_ , Arthur thought. _And I broke up with someone four months ago. And you tricked me_.

Eames shrugged. “I think we can, but of course I respect your feelings on the matter.”

“Come on, you can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘this.’ If it’s not what you want, I’m not asking for anything serious right now, Arthur. Frankly I’m just pleased you’re not cross with me anymore.”

“I just want to keep it casual.”

“So we’ll keep it casual, Arthur. No pressure.”

Arthur sighed. “All right. I’m not ready for much more right now.”

“All right,” Eames agreed. “I do like kissing you, though,” he added. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

“It’s not,” Arthur said with a laugh, kissing him again.

Eames broke the kiss this time, breathless, grinning. “Couldn’t get up to much in here anyway, you know, grease and lead and all,” he murmured. 

“Safety first,” Arthur agreed. They packed up their things, and went to wash their hands. They were quiet as they went through their usual closing routine.

As they prepared to go to their cars, Eames cleared his throat. “I really am glad you aren’t cross with me anymore, Arthur,” he said, stepping close to lightly cup Arthur’s jaw and kiss him, firm and sweet.

“Good night,” he added, going to his car as Arthur blinked after him, slightly dazed.

\--------

When Arthur came to open the range one morning some days later, Eames was at the door, beaming, holding two cups of coffee, as usual.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, but he smiled. He had felt a fluttering in his chest when he'd seen Eames. That was normal, but this time it seemed worse. Stronger.

Arthur took his cup with a murmur of thanks. He unlocked the door and gestured for Eames to step in.

Arthur turned off the alarm and turned on the lights and went about setting up shop. Eames stood in the middle of the floor, watching him and drinking his coffee. When Arthur walked past him to the register counter, Eames cleared his throat. Arthur felt another blush rising up his neck.

Eames had his hands in his back pockets. He grinned, stepping closer to the counter, so that his stomach pressed against it. He then moved around the counter to stand next to Arthur.

Arthur smiled at that; he didn't look up from the stack of waivers he was straightening in preparation for laying them out. “You gonna help me out at all, here?”

"Arthur. Kiss me," Eames said in a low, almost soft voice, and Arthur felt a little jolt in his solar plexus as he looked up, meeting Eames' eyes. They were gray-green-blue, bright, the pupils a little blown even in the harsh fluorescent lights, something imploring in the way his brows arched just slightly.

Arthur curled his fingers in Eames' shirt, pulled him closer, and kissed him. Eames' hands went to cup his jaw, as if keeping him there, although such a worry was unnecessary. Eames parted his lips just slightly against Arthur's and Arthur tilted his head into the kiss, tongue finding Eames' and sliding firmly against it, caressing it, Eames responding in kind.

In the otherwise total quiet of the room, below the wet slick sounds of their mouths Arthur could hear the soft raggedness of their breaths, and the thought of how easily they fanned each other's flames sent a hot flush over his skin. Eames' thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of his neck, and Arthur shuddered lightly, fists tightening in Eames' shirt and pulling him a bit closer. At Arthur's reaction, Eames gasped softly into his mouth.

They might have gone on kissing indefinitely had there not been a sudden sharp ring of the bell on the door. Even as they jumped, they didn't release each other right away. Arthur looked to the doorway to see, of course, Ariadne, who looked very entertained. "Well. Good morning. Don't mind me, I'm just here to... you know... work."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he let go of Eames' shirt.

"Good morning. I was just bringing Arthur some coffee," Eames said, tone rueful but amused, face flushed.

"I'm sure we're all awake now," Ariadne called over her shoulder on her way to the breakroom. 

Arthur passed a hand over his shirt to smooth it out. “Well, so much for that staying secret.”

“Were we keeping it secret?” Eames asked, wincing. 

“I just.... We’re coworkers, Eames,” Arthur said, shrugging. 

“What is it you object to, though? Being... involved as coworkers, or having our coworkers know we’re involved? Earlier this week you were saying we couldn’t do this, so I’m not quite sure what you’re meaning.” Eames looked hurt and a little hopeful; Arthur reminded himself that Eames had purposefully tricked him the first day they met. 

“I just broke up with someone, a few months ago. A former coworker,” Arthur finally said, and Eames nodded slowly in understanding.

“I didn’t know that,” he murmured. 

Arthur sighed, and took a long sip of coffee. The truth was, that breakup didn’t matter to him right now. It wouldn’t have stopped him from seeing Eames. But they were coworkers, and Nash had been a coworker, too. Arthur never again wanted to go through the tension and arguments he’d gone through after their breakup, before Nash just left town outright. Arthur loved his job. He didn’t want to get himself into another situation like that one. And it would almost certainly crash and burn; Eames had, after all, convinced him he was someone he actually wasn’t at all. There was no way this could turn out well.

Even if Arthur really, really wanted it to.

He finally said, “I don’t really want to talk about this right now, Eames. I just... let’s be casual, okay?”

Eames nodded. “Right, of course,” he said softly.

Casualness evidently extended to Arthur inviting Eames over that night for a late dinner, because he had steaks and there was a movie he wanted to watch. Eames looked so pleased when he accepted the invitation that Arthur found himself blushing again. He’d have to get a handle on that.

He’d mentioned before to Eames that he had a relatively modest collection of firearms, some antique, and in the course of conversation once he’d arrived and opened a beer, Eames said he wanted to see them. Arthur took him to his gun safe and they pored over the various handguns and rifles, exchanging anecdotes. 

Arthur couldn’t deny feeling a baseline of arousal just listening to Eames talk and watching him handle weapons. It was like that at work too, but in his home and with some alcohol in his system, it was a bit more intense. He’d have to be careful not to let things get out of hand....

The last person he’d had over for dinner had been Nash, but since Eames was actually a polite houseguest and helped Arthur get the steaks started on the grill _before_ making out with him in the kitchen, the differences were obvious. Still, they almost forgot about the steaks. Arthur, however, wasn’t going to have his efforts to make a good meal for Eames go to waste. 

Afterward, though --

“Come here,” Eames said, smiling, flushed and a little bit drunk, beckoning Arthur with a crook of his finger to join him on the kitchen floor. Arthur, a little bit drunk himself, did, wrapping his arms around Eames, groaning with approval when Eames started unbuttoning his jeans and getting his hands in his underwear. He was surprised to realize this was the first time they’d done this.

Arthur kissed Eames distractedly, muttering softly to himself, biting at Eames’ plush lips. Eames squirmed, pushing against him, gathering him closer somewhat clumsily even as he jerked him off, seemingly in desperate need of contact. When Arthur came in Eames’ fist, he broke the kiss to pant, and Eames pressed his lips to his neck. 

Arthur wasted no time returning the favor. “Wish we’d done this at the same time,” he muttered against Eames’ cheek, humming at Eames’ groan of agreement. Eames clutched at him, rocking into his fist, his eagerness and desperation igniting something in Arthur. 

“Eames, come on, come for me,” he said, low. Eames shuddered, and came.

He slowly tipped back to lean on a cabinet, and blinked at Arthur, cheeks and ears pink. He looked uncertain. Arthur smiled and leaned in to kiss him, not knowing exactly why but knowing he wanted to.

“You can stay,” he whispered, but Eames smiled wryly and shook his head. Arthur stifled any expression of disappointment. Eames wanted to keep this casual; they were coworkers. Arthur might want to wake up with Eames in his bed -- upon reflection, he really wanted that -- but that didn’t mean Eames wanted the same. Hell, Arthur was fortunate to have Eames on his kitchen floor like this, period.

Arthur stood, clumsy but willing his head to clear at least a bit from his post-beer, post-orgasm haze. He helped Eames to his feet. They did up their jeans and cleaned up, quiet, and Arthur felt off-center, awkward, until Eames cornered him against a counter and kissed him again before he could do more than let out a startled squeak.

He kissed back eagerly, hands curling in the soft cotton of Eames’ shirt, until Eames managed to break away, looking flushed again and not like someone who wanted to leave; however, that was probably Arthur’s wishful thinking, as Eames said “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“You sure you’re good to drive?”

Eames nodded. “I’m fine.” He started to walk toward the door. 

Arthur followed. “Text me when you get home.” Eames nodded again. At the front door, Arthur cupped his cheek and kissed him, but said no more. 

Half an hour later, he got a text. _home. xx - e_

He replied with _Good_ and went to bed, kicking himself for how much he wanted Eames to be there with him.

\-------

The next day, Arthur kept noticing the small smiles Eames sent his way throughout their shift. That wasn’t unusual, but if Arthur wasn’t imagining things, there was a little more heat in his gaze. Part of Arthur didn’t mind, but he couldn’t help being a tiny bit concerned about their ability to keep things casual and professional.

His phone buzzed, alerting him to a message.

_thanks for last night_

He tapped out a quick reply. _Who is this?_

His phone buzzed again in short order. _gasp. arthur really_

Arthur laughed, looking up from behind his counter to meet Eames’ gaze. Eames was snickering, ears pink.

Ariadne, sorting boxes on the floor not far from Arthur, looked at them both and sighed. “Quit passing each other notes,” she said, rolling her eyes, amused. Arthur stuck his tongue out at her.

 _Thanks for coming_ , he replied.

_oh that’s too easy_

_Kind of like you._

_i like to think i’m just easy enough, mr kitchen floor_

_Call me Mr. Levine._

_mr levine if i had my way i’d take you to the gents and blow you right this minute_

Arthur cleared his throat. Ariadne shot a rubber band at him. He shot it back before replying.

_I’d like to think I’d last longer than a minute._

_ah but you haven’t been blown by me yet have you_

_No, I have not._

_we shld remedy that_

_We should._

At this point, customers, a man and his son, arrived at Arthur’s counter, and he recovered himself enough to help them. They were in need of a lot of beginner’s gear, meaning that Arthur spent the next half-hour helping them. By the time he was done, the lunch break crowd was in, and by the time he had a chance to eat, Eames was still swamped. Arthur had a quick lunch in the breakroom, and then it was back to work; he had two lessons to give.

About half an hour before closing time, his phone buzzed again.

_i think you may need to stay late_

Eames wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Arthur replied, grinning to himself.

_Oh?_

_yes, i’ve sthg to demonstrate to you_

_Can’t wait._

They had to close anyway, and Ariadne had a class to get to. Dom was out. Once it was just the two of them, with most of the lights off and the sound of Ariadne peeling out of the parking lot, Eames walked over to him, seeming slightly hesitant, nervous energy making him bite his lip and rub the back of his neck, fingers of his other hand fiddling with his belt loop. 

“So--”

Arthur kissed him, and between them they managed to get to the men’s room.

“We don’t have to do it in here,” Arthur said somewhat belatedly, as Eames pushed him to the wall and sank to his knees.

“Oh, but it’s much more fun like this,” Eames said with a wink.

Arthur was not inclined to argue further. Eames unbuttoned his jeans and took his sweet time lowering Arthur’s zipper; Arthur cuffed him lightly for that, and Eames just grinned. Arthur had been getting hard since he started kissing Eames, and he sighed in relief as Eames freed him from his boxer briefs. Eames met his gaze as he wrapped a hand loosely around him and leaned in to lick at Arthur’s cock with the flat of his tongue, and Arthur inhaled sharply. Eames’ gaze was too much; he had to close his eyes. He opened them a moment later, though, as Eames took him impressively deep, his own eyes closed as if he were lost in what he was doing.

And he was good at it. Very good. It was fitting, of course, with a mouth like that. Arthur’s hands went to Eames’ hair to rake idle patterns through it, in time with Eames’ rhythm, and he got an approving hum for that which made him shudder in turn. 

He kept Arthur on the edge, but didn’t seem to be doing so, just seemed to be wanting him to savor, not to rush. Nash’s blowjobs had always been perfunctory, too dry, too quick, or, rarely, too sloppy. The ones he’d gotten before that weren’t particularly memorable, beyond the general principle that any blow job was a good one -- 

As if sensing that Arthur’s thoughts were elsewhere, Eames took him deeper than ever and kept his tongue tight against him as he drew off, and rubbed the tip of Arthur’s cock against his plush lower lip as he looked up at him again, wordlessly commanding Arthur’s attention. That -- all right, the look and the feel of that had Arthur losing his mind a little. His nails scraped at Eames’ scalp, and Eames chuckled and took him back in. Arthur had to stop himself from sinking slowly down the wall; his knees felt like they were starting to turn to jelly.

Eames’ leisurely teasing had slipped away, replaced by an expert and perfect rhythm. He had Arthur groaning in short order, caught in the wet heat, the pressure. Arthur rocked his hips, and Eames’ hands went to the backs of his thighs, urging him on, groaning when Arthur’s fingers curled in his hair, cupped the base of his skull. “Fuck, oh, fuck,” Arthur gasped out, remembering they were alone and there was no one they had to be quiet for. “Fuck, Eames, you’re amazing, Jesus--” Eames kept him deep, letting Arthur fuck his mouth, both of them clutching at each other. Arthur very nearly let Eames keep him upright as his cock rubbed against Eames’ soft palate, tightly embraced by his lips. He tilted his head back and swore extensively, shuddering, jaw slack as he came, toes curling in his shoes.

Eames fairly purred, releasing him slowly, licking at him until Arthur had to pull him off and sink to the floor. Eames looked smug, but that didn’t last for long; Arthur got his trembling hands in Eames’ boxers and stroked him off, and Eames leaned his forehead on the men’s room wall as he caught his breath. 

They got to their feet and cleaned up, not saying anything, both of them still slightly woozy and flushed. Arthur cleared his throat and blurted out, “You want to come over again?”

Eames looked surprised, and for a moment Arthur panicked. “Sure, Arthur,” Eames replied slowly, nodding. Still inwardly reeling over how shockingly good that had been, Arthur followed him mutely out of the men’s room, and they went to their respective cars.

Arthur’s thoughts were in turmoil as he led the way to his house. A second evening in a row with Eames over? Orgasms after hours in the men’s room were one thing.... Granted, he hadn’t stayed last night, but still. This was hardly keeping things professional. Casual, he wasn’t sure about that. This could still be considered casual, he decided as he turned down his street, aware Eames was close behind. 

In the foyer, before he’d even turned the lights on, he was kissing Eames, remembering just in time to close the door to keep the cat from getting out. Eames chuckled softly, one hand at the small of his back. “So eager?” he said as they pulled slightly apart. Arthur ignored that and took Eames’ hand, leading him to the bedroom. He released it only to cast off his shirt and unbutton his fly on the way. 

“Arthur, Arthur, wait,” Eames urged, reaching for him as they approached the bedroom, “let me.” Arthur turned to kiss him, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it down his arms as Eames returned his kiss, sucking his tongue, pulling him closer as his hands traveled over Arthur’s back. Arthur slid his palms over Eames’ skin, the firm contours of his muscles. He toed off his shoes and fumbled for the lightswitch, and then Eames was blinking at him, dazed.

Where Arthur was lean and compact, Eames was packed with muscle, and his tattoos were fascinating. Eames, meanwhile, was staring at him like he was a New York strip steak. Both of them still in their jeans, Arthur pushed him back onto the bed.

Eames reached to touch him right away, and he kissed his way down Eames’ jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, pressing Eames back with spread hands. Eames didn’t protest that, only tilted his hips up supplicatingly as Arthur moved to straddle his legs. There were Gothic letters tattooed on Eames’ abdomen but Arthur didn’t take the time to read them, only imagined them smeared with Eames’ come. Or his own.

He undid Eames’ jeans and got those and his underwear down enough to free his cock, and at last he could get his mouth on Eames’ foreskin, and taste him. Eames let out a little shuddering groan at the contact, hands going to Arthur’s hair, curling it. Arthur teased at his foreskin until Eames found his voice again to gasp out, “Arthur.”

Arthur knew he wasn’t a master of the blowjob on the same level as Eames, but he had his tricks, and he found himself wanting to pay Eames back as best he was able. Maybe it was his thoroughness that Eames appreciated, but whatever it was, it didn’t take long until Eames was panting and groaning, pulling at his hair and coming in his mouth. Arthur let his come slide back out onto Eames’ abdomen, sat back, pulled his own unbuttoned jeans out of the way, and scooped up some of Eames’ come to coat his fingers. Before he even really knew he was doing it, he was jerking off kneeling between Eames’ legs.

And Eames was encouraging him. “Come on, Arthur, please, I want it,” he was murmuring, voice tight and still a little breathless, biting his lip as he watched Arthur’s hand moving rapidly on his cock. Rather than closing his eyes in pleasure, Arthur watched as his come spurted all over Eames’ abdomen, on those tattoos.

While Arthur stared as if mesmerized, he realized that Eames had pressed his hands to his face. 

“Sorry,” Arthur got out, unsure, but when Eames drew his hands away, he was smiling, shyly, face red. 

“No, don’t be.” He didn’t say anything else, and Arthur didn’t either, and he finally got up to get a washcloth for Eames. His stomach growled, and he remembered they’d rushed right in here after work with no dinner plans or anything of the sort. Food hadn’t even been on his mind.

“So. Hungry?” he asked after Eames cleaned himself and sat up. 

“Yeah,” Eames said quietly, “I could eat, if that’s all right. ...I’m starving, actually,” he added, rolling his shoulders (momentarily distracting Arthur) and rubbing the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “If you’ve got anything.”

“Um.” Arthur thought. “I can make us a big omelette.” He was pretty good at those if he said so himself.

“That’d be great,” Eames said, and there was another quiet little smile.

Neither of them bothered putting their shirts back on, and together they headed to the kitchen where Eames made himself comfortable on a barstool and watched Arthur cook. (He’d offered to help, but Arthur refused.)

After a while, Eames said, “So, Arthur. Your tattoo.”

Arthur chuckled, raising his brow. “My tattoo?” He was a little surprised Eames had noticed it, but then, Eames was good with detail.

“Yes.”

“What about it?” Arthur poured the egg mixture into his skillet.

“What’s the story?”

“Got it in the Marines. I lost a bet and had to get a tattoo, so I chose this.” He held out his forearm to Eames. Written in a small, neat font along his inner forearm were the words _iacta alea est_.

“‘The die has been cast,’” Eames said quietly, nodding.

“Yup,” Arthur said. “I’m impressed you knew that,” he teased.

“Do give me some credit.”

Arthur flipped the omelette and added some more cheese and green peppers. “Do you want to know why I picked that?”

“Sure, if you’d like to tell me.”

“Do you know what it’s from?”

“It’s what Julius Caesar said when he crossed the Rubicon, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“But why do you have it?”

“Well.” Arthur chuckled. “We used to play craps all the time, and the guys would always accuse me of having a loaded die.”

“Did you?” Eames sounded interested.

“I’m not telling.” Arthur grinned, and folded the omelette. “Maybe I was just lucky.”

“Maybe so.”

Arthur cut the omelette in half and put each portion on a plate. He passed Eames’ plate to him and said, “Hey, so, since I’ve already made you breakfast, how about you spend the night?”

It was an attempt at a joking tone, but Eames looked at him very seriously, surprised again. Arthur bit his tongue.

“Sure,” Eames replied with a small shrug. “It’s early yet, though, isn’t it?” 

Arthur was afraid he’d jumped the gun. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, but we didn’t watch that movie last night. We can do that, then go to bed.” He felt slightly breathless thinking about that -- Eames in his bed. Which was silly. He’d had men in his bed before without getting flustered about it.

They took their omelette plates to the living room and made themselves comfortable on the couch, and started watching that movie. Finished eating and with their plates set aside, they ended up, well, cuddling, technically, Arthur supposed. Kind of. They were close, turned toward each other, and still shirtless, and naturally they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Eames actually nuzzled him, and Arthur basically had to wrap an arm around him. It was surprisingly comfortable, and didn’t feel very awkward. At first. Well, it was more that Arthur realized he should feel a lot more uncomfortable and awkward, what with a coworker cuddling him half-dressed, and that thought in turn made him feel uncomfortable and awkward; sex was one thing, cuddling was another. He kept still until the movie ended, and then got up to turn it off, and then remembered he was truly looking forward to being in bed with Eames and sighed internally. Of course this was complicated.

Eames looked a bit sleepy and somber, and he stretched that magnificent body of his as he yawned. “Sorry, I’m a bit worn out, I suppose,” he murmured.

“We’ll go to bed soon,” Arthur said, keeping to himself how surprised he was at how... normal that sounded.

He put away the plates, fed the cat, cleaned the kitchen quickly, and returned to find Eames dozing off on the couch. “Hey,” Arthur said, grinning despite himself, holding out a hand as Eames cracked open a lid.

“Sorry,” Eames said, grinning back, accepting the help in getting to his feet. Back to Arthur’s bedroom they went.

Arthur took off his jeans; Eames followed suit. “You can, uh,” Arthur said, “you can use my toothbrush. If you want. I don’t have a spare.”

“Thank you. After you,” Eames said, looking amused for some reason. After Arthur was done, he brushed his teeth while Arthur took out his contacts. When he came to bed, Arthur was under the covers in his boxers, the light on the nightstand still on. 

“Do you have a side you prefer?” Eames asked quietly.

“Um. I like to sleep closer to the door,” Arthur said, and Eames nodded in understanding. He got in bed on the other side, and pulled the covers up over them. After a beat or two, Arthur turned to flip off the light, and as he moved back to where he’d been, Eames smoothly turned to him and put an arm over him. Well then. Arthur couldn’t object to Eames spooning him; they fit perfectly together. And Eames was very warm.

They actually did sleep. At least, for about five hours, until Arthur was awakened from a dream where he was being kissed on his neck by Eames kissing him on his neck. He shivered all over, and turned to kiss him on the mouth, suddenly fervent and much more awake.

Eames had woken him up, but Arthur quickly took over, pressing Eames back into his bed, arching into the strokes of Eames’ palms down his back. 

“Why’d you wake me up, hm?” Arthur teased quietly, voice rough.

“Mm, couldn’t sleep,” Eames replied. “Nightmare.” He chuckled, sounding breathless.

“Why’d you really wake me up?” Arthur persisted, kissing along Eames’ stubbled jaw.

“Well, I. Arthur.” Eames cleared his throat, sounding more breathless now. “I’ve basically thought about you fucking me since we met.”

Arthur inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah.” He almost felt dizzy from the sudden wave of lust that seemed to flood his mind. “Yeah, I’ve got condoms, I’ve got lube.” He was babbling.

Eames smoothed a hand down his shoulder, his arm. “Arthur, please,” he murmured, and Arthur thought the sound of Eames’ voice like that would be his undoing.

He banished the thought and moved to get a condom and lube from the nightstand. Eames shed his boxers before Arthur could help. Arthur made short work of his own. 

They were fumbling, clumsy, slightly groggy, and overeager in the dark. Maybe Eames wasn’t as ready as he could have been, but he insisted, and Arthur didn’t argue. Eames sighed, shuddering, locking his legs around Arthur’s hips. 

To his surprise, Eames started to come not long after Arthur got a hand around his cock. Something about that, or maybe the soft desperate sounds Eames was making, set him off.

It was over too soon, but neither of them really cared; at least, Arthur didn’t think Eames minded the way he settled onto him, panting a bit and warm and a bit sweaty, pressing his face into the crook of Eames’ neck for a moment. They nearly dozed off like that, but Arthur got up to dispose of the condom as Eames grabbed some Kleenex to wipe off his stomach. Arthur got back into bed, boxer shorts on and spooning Eames this time. He slept pretty soundly after that.

He woke up tangled with Eames, who was out like a light and snoring very faintly, and the sleepy contentment he felt at first was gradually displaced by what would best be called “freaking out,” although he kept still and didn’t say a word. Eames was warm and smelled good, and that wasn’t helping Arthur to not freak out. He’d fucked Eames; he’d slept with him, his coworker. And Eames had said he’d wanted Arthur to fuck him since they’d met. And Arthur had really, really liked it. 

This was going to make it even more difficult when it came to keeping things casual and professional. 

He sighed heavily, pressing his face into his pillow, and felt Eames ruffle his hair. He went still in surprise, and Eames, regretfully, stopped. Arthur had a vision of tilting his head into Eames’ palm like his cat did when she wanted pets. After a pause, he very slightly turned his head, and Eames continued. “I’ve got to get in to work, I’m opening today,” he said, which Arthur knew. 

“You can grab a shower if you want, and I’ll put on some coffee,” Arthur said, voice muffled by the pillow.

“All right,” Eames said, and kissed his shoulder before he got up. A few moments later, Arthur heard the shower start up, and he imagined Eames naked in his bathroom with water sluicing off him, all sudsed up, and wondered if joining his coworker in the shower was a good idea. Just as he decided to risk it, the water turned off. He remembered he was supposed to have put on some coffee.

“Do you want a shirt of mine or do you think no one will notice you’re wearing the same clothes as you were yesterday?” Arthur asked as Eames walked into the kitchen.

“Won’t they notice if I’m wearing one of your shirts?” Eames asked, picking up his cup of coffee. 

“Good point.” Arthur felt his cheeks turning red. “You could wear my Sex Pistols one, though. Dom disapproves of me wearing that one.”

“But won’t he know it’s yours?”

“He might not remember. All right, fine, just wear one of my white undershirts. You’ll look stunning in it, anyway,” Arthur grumbled. Eames beamed. Arthur concentrated on drinking most of his coffee at once. “You’ll stretch it out,” he added, and Eames just kissed his cheek.

After getting one of Arthur’s undershirts, Eames refused breakfast, saying he was running late, but only left after he’d pressed Arthur against the wall and kissed him into a flustered state. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, kitten,” Eames said before Arthur closed the door. 

Arthur looked at his cat, who had been observing them dryly from her huddled position on the back of the couch. “He was talking to you,” Arthur told her. She blinked slowly, almost sarcastically.

He spent his day off running errands and cleaning the house, and he kept finding himself thinking of Eames, wondering about him. What his apartment or house looked like (not that Arthur expected to see it). What he liked to cook, what shows he watched on TV. If he had any siblings.

Despite himself, he was disappointed when he didn’t receive a text message from Eames all day. But then, maybe that was for the best. 

The next day at work, Eames was polite and friendly to him, but nothing more. No stolen kisses, no winks. Not that Arthur had expected, or wanted, that.

He forgot about his undershirt until he saw Eames wearing it the next day they worked together.

It was stretched out. Oh, was it ever. It was taut over Eames’ upper back, his shoulders, around his barrel chest. Over his nipples. 

Eames smiled when he saw him. “Arthur, I hope you don’t mind that I still have your shirt,” he said quietly. “It was the first thing I grabbed this morning.”

Arthur swallowed, mouth dry. “It’s fine,” he said. “Keep it.” He couldn’t keep himself from looking down at Eames’ chest, and when he looked up again, Eames was smirking. “Shut up,” Arthur added.

“I haven’t said anything,” Eames said, still smirking, raising his hands.

The next day, for a change of pace, Arthur dressed up a bit. He liked to do that, on occasion. Ariadne always made fun of him for it; he in turn made fun of her penchant for useless scarves. He decided on khakis, his boots, a chocolate-colored v-neck sweater, and a dress shirt: nothing fancy, since it would probably get lead and grease on it anyway, but when he came in, Eames still looked gobsmacked. 

“You look lovely,” Eames whispered later that morning as he walked past. Arthur raised a brow. “Next time wear the glasses,” he added. “I miss the glasses.”

A few days later, Arthur wore his glasses.

He and Eames hadn’t seen each other outside of work, though, with the exception of a lunch or two. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it was certainly better than Nash bugging him all the time. On the other hand, he actually missed Eames, and if he wasn’t careful he was going to start wondering why Eames didn’t want more from him. Which was stupid. Because Arthur wanted to keep things casual and professional. It only made sense.

On a morning when he and Eames were scheduled to open together, Arthur received a call from Dom as he pulled into the parking lot. “Just letting you know Eames won’t be coming in,” Dom said.

“Did he say why?” That was overstepping a bit, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“He didn’t,” Dom said, sounding surprised at the question. “He was pretty vague, actually.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” Arthur said, resigned. He’d been looking forward to seeing Eames, and the way Eames brought him coffee almost every morning they worked together. 

Eames didn’t come in the next day, either. Ariadne cast Arthur a sympathetic look when Dom told them he didn’t know when Eames would be coming back, that Eames had just told him not to expect him anytime soon. Arthur looked away, trying to seem as neutral as possible.

When he got home, his doormat seemed to be crooked. That wasn’t that odd, but when he stepped inside, he saw a package on the coffee table. 

Going stock still, he listened for any sounds of an intruder. After a moment of hearing nothing, he slowly stepped closer to the package, and saw that it had a note on it, reading “To A. from E. xx”

He carefully picked it up and took it to his dining room table. Whatever it was, it was heavy. He peeled off the brown paper to reveal an antique-looking wooden box, and carefully unlatched it. 

Inside were two mouthwateringly gorgeous flintlock dueling pistols, nestled on soft royal blue velvet, curled toward each other like halves of a yin-yang symbol. They were clearly antique, possibly as much as three hundred years old, and were decorated with beautiful engraved silver, on what looked to be walnut stocks. 

Arthur swallowed hard, looking at them without touching them, enraptured. He shook himself at last and went to get his laptop, and started to search.

A good half-hour later, he was fairly sure they matched up with a description of a pair of French pistols from around 1715. 

And they were worth thirty thousand dollars.

They were also listed as stolen. The owner was unsure when exactly they had gone missing.

Arthur went and got some rubber gloves from his gun-cleaning kit before picking the pistols up one by one and looking them over.

“What the fuck, Eames?” he muttered to himself as he set them down in the velvet again. “You disappear on me and this is your idea of a parting gift?”

He wanted to send Eames a text (they hadn’t texted each other since before Eames had left, or whatever he’d done). But what to say? _Thank you_? _Where the hell are you_? _I miss you?_

Ultimately, he decided he didn’t know what to send. He put the box with the dueling pistols in the back of his closet.

The next day, after hours, he bought two hundred rounds and spent an hour in the empty range, by himself, firing off shot after shot until his fingertips were black with dust and ached from use. He had miniscule burns from hot shell casings dotting his hands and forearms. The range could get very warm, and by the time he was out of ammo, his shirt was sticking to his damp back. 

When he was done, though, he did feel a bit better.

On his drive home, he decided he would call Eames. What to say, exactly, would come to mind as he spoke to him, he supposed. Standing in his living room, he was kind of nervous as he picked up his phone and hit Eames’ number.

Instead of Eames’ mellifluous purr, a crackling recorded voice told him “We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is not available.”

Arthur went still and put the phone down, realizing he had no other way of contacting Eames. Dom had his address on file, but the odds weren’t good he was even there anymore. He could be in serious danger, and Arthur had just let him drift off into the ether. 

Arthur decided he’d have to find him.

At the range, he looked up Eames’ records in Dom’s office and wrote down his address, first thing. Once his shift was over, he drove to Eames’ house, which he’d never seen before, though Arthur regretted that now.

The driveway was empty, the curtains drawn. The mailbox held only coupon flyers, although Arthur was careful to look in there only briefly to avoid arousing suspicion. He had parked on the street just down the way, and it was dusk, so hopefully he escaped notice. It was possible, of course, that Eames’ house was being watched.

Quickly and quietly, he opened the gate at the side of the house and went to the back porch. He tried the door; it was locked, but with his shirt covering his hand, he jimmied it.

It was silent in the house, and the lights were off. The kitchen was clean, no stray dishes in the sink, no garbage waiting to be taken out. The bathroom was missing common toiletries, indicating that Eames had gone on a planned trip of some sort, which did give Arthur a bit of relief, although he still had no way of knowing if the trip had been taken under duress. The bedroom was neat as well, bed made, no suitcase in the closet. 

At Eames’ desk, Arthur opened the top drawer, and saw a notepad with a hasty scribble on it: a name, Yusuf, and a phone number. On the next page was just “Mombassa,” which Arthur assumed was meant to read “Mombasa.”

As this was his only real clue, he saved the number in his phone and went home, leaving everything as he’d found it.

He’d been intending to call, maybe speak to this Yusuf, before he realized it wasn’t his place. He was Eames’ coworker. This Yusuf could be his lover. That really gave Arthur pause. Eames had never said he was or wasn’t involved with anyone else. Yusuf could be in trouble; Yusuf could be taking him back after a long time apart. Could be anything, really. 

Out of curiosity, he looked up the cost of a flight to Mombasa. It was obscenely expensive, and it was an incredibly long trip. Had Eames really flown there? Was Yusuf waiting for him there? Had Yusuf been worth whatever Eames paid and the time he spent to get to him? And the question Arthur didn’t want to ponder: would Eames ever consider going to that much trouble to get to Arthur?

 _This isn’t healthy_ , Arthur thought to himself in bed that night, after he imagined flying to Moi International (not that he had the cash) and tracking Eames down, assuming he could, for a breathless reunion. He was skilled in recon but that was generally when he knew he was meant to find what he was looking for.

Another day passed. Customers kept asking where Eames was, surprised to hear he was gone until further notice. Eames was pretty popular. 

At home, Arthur looked up the number online. To his surprise, it was a London number, not a Mombasa one, although it was not the right time to call either place. He’d have to try in the morning.

The next day, on a smoke break, he dialed the number. It seemed to ring forever.

“H’lo?” a man finally said. Not Eames. He sounded distracted.

“Uh, is this, is this--” Arthur realized he wasn’t sure how to pronounce Yusuf’s name, and stumbled-- “Yes-oof?”

“Who’s asking?” the man snapped, sounding annoyed. “Who’s this? How’ve you got this number?” His accent was British, unsurprisingly. 

“I, um,” Arthur said. “I’m looking for a man named Eames--”

The man sighed. “He’s not here at the moment. Listen, who’s this?”

Arthur closed his eyes, imagining Yusuf and Eames sharing a laugh over silly Arthur who’d broken into Eames’ house to sneak around and get an unlisted number and call Eames’ boyfriend in London.

“My name’s Arthur.”

“Arthur.” The man’s voice softened, or Arthur was imagining things. “All right. I’ll tell him you rang, mate.”

“I--” Arthur heard the click and the line went dead. “Wait--”

As he pocketed his phone, Arthur found himself wondering that afternoon how much it cost to fly to London. No doubt it was still expensive, but it had to be cheaper than flying to Mombasa.

“What’s going on with you, Arthur?” Ariadne asked him as they were closing. “You’ve been really subdued lately.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur said, shrugging.

Ariadne arched a brow, skeptical. “If you say so. It’s okay to miss Eames,” she said. “We all do. I know you had a... thing with him.”

“I did not have ‘a thing with him,’” Arthur snapped a bit too quickly.

Ariadne gave him a pitying look. Arthur ignored it. 

This wouldn’t do, not at all. Arthur didn’t sit around pining for anybody. Certainly not people who left without an explanation. But what could he do about it? Just forget Eames? The range reminded him of Eames all the time. There were no other men Arthur was interested in seeing just now. His hobbies were primarily gun-related and that just reminded him more of Eames.

He looked up Eames’ address to see if the house was for sale, but it wasn’t. That didn’t necessarily mean anything; he could be renting.

Eames hadn’t returned his call, and one morning on his next day off, Arthur was pissed off enough about it to call that London number again and just get some kind of closure.

Yusuf answered again. “Yusuf, it’s Arthur. I need to speak to Eames,” Arthur said, steel backing his voice.

He was expecting resistance, but Yusuf just said, “Right, just a moment.”

Arthur swallowed, waiting to hear Eames’ voice, heart hammering.

“Arthur?” Eames said, sounding surprised and curious, and a little cautious.

“Eames,” Arthur said, sure he hadn’t been able to keep all the relief he felt out of his voice.

“I... Why’ve you called?” Eames asked.

“I wanted to know where you were,” Arthur replied, mouth dry.

“How’d you find this number?”

“I... broke into your house,” Arthur admitted, face hot. Eames probably thought he was deranged, a stalker. He and Yusuf would share another laugh about him, then block his number.

“Darling,” Eames said softly.

Tongue-tied at that, Arthur just swallowed. There was no pity in Eames’ tone, just... something he couldn’t name.

“Well,” he finally said, defensive, “you left, and you didn’t tell anyone where. I didn’t know if you were in trouble, or something.”

“I’m in London, and I’m fine,” Eames said with a small sigh, sounding tired, “but it’s nothing concerning you, Arthur, you needn’t have worried.”

“But I did,” Arthur insisted. “You can’t just take off, and -- and leave thirty-thousand dollars’ worth of stolen dueling pistols as a going-away present.” He’d almost forgotten about the gift.

Eames was quiet, and chuckled, sounding pleased with himself now despite the tiredness. “Did you like them? I thought you might.”

“They’re hot property, Eames, it doesn’t matter if I like them.”

“But you do.”

“But I do,” Arthur admitted. “They’re gorgeous. Although, frankly, I could use thirty-thousand in cash and I can’t exactly sell them.”

“I could.” Eames sounded guilty, as though he hadn’t really thought of Arthur needing the money, just the romantic gesture. If that was what it was intended to be.

“Well, you’re not here,” Arthur said, petulant. Yes, being petulant was definitely going to entice Eames back to him.

“But Arthur, that’s the thing. I’m the sort of man who can steal dueling pistols and sell them, and I’m also the sort of man who has to drop everything and leave when... a friend has gotten himself into trouble.”

“Don’t blame me for your love life gone awry,” Yusuf called out in the background. Eames ignored that, and Arthur took the cue to ignore it as well. He wasn’t sure if Yusuf was referring to himself or to Arthur as the “love life” in question. Eames had hesitated before calling Yusuf a “friend,” after all, if it was Yusuf he was referring to.

“So what are you saying, Eames?” he asked.

“I’m saying....” Eames paused to sigh. “I’m saying I’m not the sort of man you need to worry yourself over, Arthur. I don’t want to cause trouble for you. Goodbye.”

“Thanks for the pistols,” was all Arthur could think to say, bitterly, and swallowed. Eames hung up.

Arthur sat down heavily on his couch. The more he thought about their conversation, the more pissed off he got. No one told Arthur what he needed or didn’t need to worry about. As he got up and went to his computer, he knew he was about to do something very stupid.

He booked a flight to London.

An immediate flight was too expensive; he booked one two weeks out (not that that was cheap either). Two weeks to think about what an idiot he was. But at least he’d be an idiot who’d get closure face-to-face.

Ariadne agreed to feed his cat, and Dom gave him the time off, although Arthur didn’t tell anyone what it was for. He didn’t hear anything from Eames or Yusuf for those two weeks. 

He looked over his notes on the flight until he couldn’t concentrate and had to sleep at least a little bit. He had several addresses he needed to check out to see if Eames and Yusuf were there, and if he turned out to be wrong, he’d have to start over. He had a limited amount of time, and it wasn’t like London was small.

He dressed up for this trip, wanting to look like a businessman, with his hair slicked back, and bringing some of his best clothes. Arthur had a soft spot for nice clothes and wished he had a bigger budget for them. And if he wanted to be taken seriously, he needed to look the part. It was true, too, that Eames had liked it when he’d dressed up, but that was maybe beside the point.

He spent an entire day searching, taking the Tube everywhere, returning to his hotel that night exhausted and with nine of the twelve possible addresses on his list marked through. He’d been hoping against hope that he’d be able to spend his first night in London with Eames, but of course, that wasn’t how it happened. The bed was too soft and the pillows were lumpy, but he slept soundly regardless, just because he was so worn out. And a little resigned. 

The next day, he added more addresses to his list, most of which were further out from the city center. Six of those down, and by late afternoon he was in yet another neighborhood that consisted of row upon row of little brown brick houses under a gray sky. His feet were killing him. He was wearing pale dress pants, a plaid tie, and a striped dress shirt, which didn’t mesh with what the locals were wearing in this neighborhood in the slightest. But he had to check out this last address. And then maybe add some more to his list.

He walked up the path to the door, and it opened before he could knock.

Eames stood there, wearing a striped pastel shirt, a gold watch, and pleated gray trousers. His hair was parted on the side and slicked down. He looked a lot different from the way he did with unruly hair and in tight t-shirts, and yet somehow more like himself. 

Arthur realized he’d stopped walking.

“Get inside, Arthur,” Eames murmured. “You’re just in time for tea,” he added as Arthur walked past him. Eames locked the door with three locks. “This isn’t the most charming neighborhood,” he explained when Arthur looked at him with eyebrows raised.

Arthur unglued his throat and found his voice. “Eames.”

“Darling.” Eames stood before him and cupped his jaw, staring at Arthur hungrily. There were shadows under his eyes. “Darling, there was no need.” His expression belied his words completely. 

Arthur swallowed. “I needed to find you,” he said, simply. 

“And you did,” Eames said, admiringly. “I either need to do a better job covering my tracks, or you’re just that good.”

“Maybe both,” Arthur said. A man with curly black hair and a round face topped with silver wireframe glasses walked in from the kitchen. “Kettle’s on,” he told Eames, and looked at Arthur. “Arthur,” he said with a nod, and a hint of wry amusement in his dark eyes. “Glad you could join us.”

“Yusuf,” Arthur said stiffly, and felt his shoulders hunch up a bit. Eames, whose hand was still cupping Arthur’s jaw, kissed his cheek. “All right, Arthur. It’s only Yusuf.”

As Yusuf went back to the kitchen, Arthur nodded in understanding, casting his gaze downward, surprised when Eames kissed him. But not so surprised that he didn’t respond, fingers gripping Eames’ shirt until his hand hurt, kissing Eames deeply, searchingly, unable to stop himself. 

“Christ,” Yusuf exclaimed as he walked back into the room where they were. “Just -- don’t forget about the tea,” he called as he left again.

Arthur pulled back, breathless, suddenly exhausted all over again. “Sit down, love,” Eames said, hand at the small of his back, directing him to an armchair. “Sit down and I’ll get you some tea.”

Arthur closed his eyes. He’d found Eames. He was in London, and he’d found Eames.

“Milk and sugar,” Eames said, handing over a cup as Arthur opened his eyes. Arthur nodded, and sipped. Eames sat in the other chair, not drinking his tea, just looking at Arthur.

“Yusuf isn’t your boyfriend, is he?” Arthur was sure now, but wanted to hear it.

Eames barked out a rueful laugh. “Not in the slightest. If he were, his wife would kill us.”

“She’s going to kill us anyway,” Yusuf added from some adjoining room.

“Piss off with your bloody eavesdropping,” Eames mock-admonished. 

“It’s not my fault this place has paper-thin walls,” Yusuf replied, “but that is why you two will be spending the night wherever Arthur is staying.”

Eames rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders creeping toward his ears, and sipped his tea. Arthur watched him. “Can you come back to my hotel, so we can talk? Is it safe for you?”

Eames nodded. “Oh, I’ll be fine. It’s Yusuf who’s in trouble,” he said, grinning. From the other room, Yusuf scoffed.

They made their way to Arthur’s hotel room, quiet, any need for personal conversation swallowed by the noise and bustle of the city. Arthur was conscious of every bit of distance -- or lack thereof -- between them as they went.

The silence of the hotel room made it seem like a cocoon. “I missed you,” Arthur blurted, sounding too loud, as he locked the door.

Sitting down on the bed, Eames smiled. 

“Well? Did you miss me?” Arthur felt tired, contrary, wan from not having Eames, from steeling himself for the possibility of never finding him, or being met with a refusal to contact him any further, and now here was Eames in his room, just smiling.

Eames held out his arms and Arthur slowly walked into them. Eames wrapped his arms around him, cheek against Arthur’s tie, and after a moment Arthur spread his hands out over Eames’ shoulders.

“Arthur,” Eames said, voice muffled, “you’ve absolutely no idea how much I missed you.”

Arthur swallowed. “Why’d you leave me to begin with, then,” he managed to say.

Eames sighed, and pulled him closer. “It’s a long story,” he said.

After a moment, Arthur pulled back, and sat down next to Eames. “I’ve got plenty of time to listen,” he said, pulling off his shoes. He flopped onto his back, and Eames did as well.

Eames began. “I’d hoped I could take a bit of a holiday from my life here by spending a year or so in in the States. I had a contact, your boss, Dom, who owed a friend of mine a favor and said he could set me up with a job. Not that I needed the money, but I needed to get away. I’d just completed a major art heist and some high-end forgeries, and the people after me were getting closer and closer to finding out where and who I was. Working at a firing range in the middle of nowhere -- no offense intended -- seemed like it would do fairly well.”

Arthur turned slightly to watch him as he spoke. He was quiet, and his tone was confessional. 

“Then I met you.” Eames turned to him, and smiled. 

“And?” Arthur prodded.

“Then Yusuf got himself into trouble smuggling contraband substances and I came back to help him out. We’ve been friends since we were small, you see. I may owe him several favors, and I suppose I’m better off with him alive than otherwise.” Eames chuckled.

“And you just left without a word?”

“I couldn’t very well tell you all about these things, could I? And after all, you said you only wanted something casual.” Eames shrugged, and looked away.

“Do I fly to London for things I want to keep casual?” Arthur said, exasperated.

Eames gave him a long look. “Do you?”

“Point taken, but I’m here now, Eames, I came to find you.”

Eames was looking at the ceiling now. “I didn’t really want casual, but I went along with you. You said you wanted casual and you’d just broken up with someone. I thought we’d just have a bit of fun and I’d leave eventually -- I hadn’t known what Yusuf was up to at the time -- even though I did think you were lovely. I just didn’t realize how lovely you were.” He sighed, a wry grin curling the corner of his mouth. “I... well, I’m afraid I decided that Yusuf’s troubles would also serve as a good reason for me to get myself out of whatever I was starting to feel for you. And I didn’t want you getting mixed up in my messes. If anyone was able to track me down and find out about you, and use you against me, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

Arthur laid there, thinking. “So you just left.”

“I think we’ve established that, yes.”

“Without asking me what I wanted or what I thought.”

“I did, and you wanted casual. I’ve explained why I didn’t want you caught up in my dealings.”

“That was before. I wanted casual before.”

“And I suppose flying here to find me indicates some sort of change took place. Darling, I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“What is it you’re telling me?” Eames turned to face him.

“I want to be with you.”

“What about your breakup?” 

Arthur shook his head, impatient. “That’s nothing to me anymore.”

“What about your job, your life? What if I stay in London, Arthur?”

“Then I’ll stay here with you.”

“Sweetheart.” Eames spread his hand out over Arthur’s chest. “I’m an international criminal.”

“I don’t care.”

“What if we go back to the States? Assuming I can get back in.”

“Then you can sell those pistols for me.”

Eames laughed, sat up, and leaned over to give him a kiss. “I’m sorry about those. I suppose I thought I was being romantic.” He sighed.

“Eames, come back to the States with me. If you need to escape your life here anyway, go back with me.” Arthur was surprised to find that he had curled his fingers in Eames’ shirt.

Eames bit his lip, thoughtful. “I’ve been unhappy without you, Arthur,” he confessed finally, voice soft. “I thought of you all the time. I kept wanting to contact you, but my phone was long gone and I thought it would be best for you if I didn’t.”

“Do you understand now that that was a mistake?”

“I understand now that I’ve made several mistakes. I’m not half so clever as I normally am when it comes to you, you know.”

“Likewise. So come back with me, or we’ll be half idiots on two different sides of the world.”

Resting back on an elbow, Eames smoothed Arthur’s tie. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he said quietly. “Do you know, I wear that undershirt of yours to sleep in every night.”

Arthur pushed himself upward and kissed Eames, moved to press him back into the bed. Eames’ arms went around him immediately.

“Is this the bit where you convince me I’ve been very foolish in thinking I could ever live without you?” Eames asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said, sitting up, straddling Eames, undoing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re doing very well already. I won’t need much more convincing,” Eames said, moving his hands up Arthur’s thighs. 

“I was stupid too.” Arthur cast his shirt off and started to unbutton Eames’. “I kept telling myself that because you were my coworker, certain things were off limits.”

“What things, love?” Eames obligingly moved to let Arthur get his shirt off.

“Cuddling. Spending the night. Showering together.”

“You were going to join me in the shower? And you didn’t? That was very stupid of you,” Eames admonished, grinning. “I needed someone to wash my back.”

Arthur pushed Eames’ burly shoulders back to the bed and ground his hips down on Eames’. “Next time.”

“Get those lovely trousers off, you’ll ruin them and I want you naked or at least in your knickers,” Eames said.

“I want to fuck you again,” Arthur said, getting up and taking off his dress pants. 

“I won’t object to that in the slightest. I think about it every time I have a wank,” Eames admitted, looking flushed.

“We didn’t take time for it then,” Arthur said, distracted by what Eames had just said but still needing to make his point.

“So you’re going to do it properly now?” Eames teased, looking delighted, sitting up on his elbows to watch Arthur take his boxer briefs off.

“Hopefully,” Arthur said. Eames pulled him onto the bed and leaned over him, kissing down his chest.

“I did mention I missed you, haven’t I?” he said, with a wry raise of his eyebrows, taking Arthur’s cock in his mouth before Arthur could formulate a response.

Eames sucked him with contented hums and throaty sighs, and again Arthur found himself almost getting off on how much Eames was enjoying doing this to him. He realized Eames had impressed him into silence, and loosed his tongue; wouldn’t do for Eames to feel unappreciated.

“Eames,” he whispered, surprised at how rough his voice sounded, “fuck, you’re so good to me, you make me want to come like this.” 

Eames hummed and squeezed his hip. He drew off. “Better stop, then, as I’d rather you come whilst fucking me, if that’s quite all right with you.” He winked.

“Get the rest of your clothes off, then,” Arthur said, getting up to retrieve a condom and some lube.

“Oh, yessir.” Eames stripped off and got on the bed. “How d’you want me, then?”

Arthur set the condom and lube on the bed and bridged himself over Eames. “Like this. I want to see you.”

Eames swallowed, turning pink. “Do my best to last longer this time.”

Arthur kissed him. “No, it was hot. Don’t worry about it. I like that you’re into it.” He sat back on his heels between Eames’ spread thighs and uncapped the lube, wetting his fingers. “I know you said you... wank... thinking about this, but do you ever, you know, fuck yourself?” Arthur slipped two fingers into Eames, who bit his lip, with a little inhalation.

“I have,” he said. “It’s not comparable, of course.”

“Of course.” Arthur shook his head, and slowly pumped his fingers in and out. Eames closed his eyes, and Arthur watched the way he went still, tension ebbing from his limbs, as he focused on just the feel of Arthur’s fingers. His skin was flushed, and he was starting to breathe harder. Arthur waited, wanting Eames to say “please” again. Finally, lips parted, Eames opened his eyes and looked up at him. “Please,” he said, voice low and rough.

Arthur wasted no time getting the condom on. He sank into Eames, who wrapped his legs around his hips again and sighed shakily. “That’s better,” he said, with a soft chuckle.

“Mmm.” Arthur dropped a quick kiss to his smiling mouth. “So,” he said, “tell me. Do you want it slow and steady until you can’t take it anymore and you have to come, or do you want it hard and fast until you’re overwhelmed?”

Eames let out a little huff of breath, and blinked. “Slow and steady, please. “

“All right,” Arthur said, surprised. He started to move, slow and deep.

His surprise melted into fascination. Like this, he could watch Eames slowly, blissfully unravel. He had little tells: his fingers stretched and curled restlessly, he licked his dry lips, he tilted his head back as if in surrender when Arthur hit a particularly good angle. He started breathing more harshly, broad chest heaving.

His eyes had fallen closed, and when Arthur pinched his nipple, he stared up at Arthur in surprise, lashes fluttering and pupils huge. “Watching me, then?”

Arthur grinned. “Yeah. Do you object?”

“If you’re enjoying the view, I’d hardly want to stop you from doing so,” Eames said.

“How kind of you.” Arthur slowed his hips, but went more deeply, drawing a stuttered small gasp from Eames. “Touch yourself for me,” he told him, and watched Eames take his time getting his fingers around his cock, as if trying not to appear too eager. “Come on,” Arthur whispered.

Eames started to stroke himself, trying to go slowly enough to keep pace with Arthur. 

“Do you want to come, Eames?” Arthur murmured, covering Eames’ hand with his own, making his fingers wrap more tightly around his cock but not going any faster.

“Cheeky,” Eames gasped out. “Flying over here to fuck me and make me beg you to let me come.”

Arthur felt the grin creeping across his face. “You want to beg? I was just asking, but if you want me to make you beg--” He changed his angle, and Eames grunted, starting to stroke himself faster. Arthur squeezed his hand. “Uh uh uh,” he teased, “what do we say?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eames said, face pink. 

“Close, but not quite.” Arthur made his thrusts very slow and deliberate.

Eames grumbled, but his skin was pink all over, he was starting to pant, and his cock seemed to have actually gotten harder since their conversation had taken this particular turn. His precome was coating Arthur’s fingers to a notable extent. 

“You really want this, don’t you?” Arthur asked. “You really want me to tell you when you can come. Do you jerk off thinking about that, too?”

“Yes,” Eames gasped. “I dream about it, too. I dream about you pinning me down and fucking me and not letting me come until you say I can.”

Arthur shifted forward to kiss him. “Jesus, and you were thinking we’d never see each other again.” Arthur moved his hand faster until Eames caught the rhythm, and then fucked him faster in turn, until he could tell Eames was close from his little restless movements and the catches in his breaths. He slowed down suddenly, and Eames groaned, dismayed.

“All you have to do is ask,” Arthur said. “I know you want to.”

“Shut up,” Eames groaned, but as soon as Arthur started moving faster he was getting close again. “Oh, bloody hell. Arthur. Please let me come. Please make me come.”

Arthur chuckled softly, breathless, and fucked him harder, hand moving faster. “C’mon, Eames. Come for me.”

Eames shuddered, and groaned, face twisted up almost as if in pain. He came all over his stomach and Arthur suddenly followed, the sight of that tipping him over the edge. Arthur released him and kissed him, and Eames made soft breathless hums of contentment. He was warm all over.

“Hungry?” Arthur said after a few moments.

“Ravished. Er, famished,” Eames replied.

Once they were cleaned up, Arthur called for Chinese delivery. 

“We’ll leave here early and have breakfast tomorrow with Yusuf,” Eames decided. “Don’t want to leave him alone too long.” 

Hours later, they slept. Or at least, Eames did, at first. Arthur laid awake for a while, thinking about the fact that Eames hadn’t agreed to come back with him.

The next morning, they got ready quickly and went back to the safe house, where Yusuf made breakfast. Arthur was eating baked beans when Eames came back into the room from surveying at the front window. Hands in his pockets, he said quietly to Yusuf, “That car’s out front again.”

Yusuf went still, looking serious. 

“What can I do?” Arthur asked.

Eames turned to Arthur, smiling slightly although it didn’t carry to his eyes. “Ever fired a Beretta, love?”

\------

The man who walked up the path to the door was tall, pockmarked, with a bulbous nose and a grim expression. He was dressed in dark clothing.

He saw Arthur standing at Eames’ side in front of Yusuf, looked at the Beretta he was wearing in a borrowed shoulder holster, and frowned, wary. “I don’t want any trouble, Eames. No need for... bodyguards.” 

Eames smiled thinly. “What do you want, Stevens?”

Stevens shrugged. “What do you think I want? I -- we, because you know perfectly well who sent me -- want to make sure this business doesn’t happen again.” 

“I’ve told you,” Eames said, low, “Yusuf made a bloody mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Davis believes otherwise,” Stevens said, sullen. He walked toward Eames. Arthur found himself stepping smoothly in front of him.

“Do not touch him,” Arthur said, clear, firm, with deceptive calm. His hand went to the Beretta, resting lightly on it.

The men all looked at him. Stevens paused, holding up his hands, then looked at Eames again. “Look. I’ve come to deliver a message. I’ve delivered it.”

“Then there’s no need for you to stay any longer,” Arthur said. 

Stevens shrugged. “Yusuf’ll stay out of dealings with Davis if he knows what’s good for ‘im. No second chances with our lot.” He walked down the driveway backward, hands at his sides, taking his time. Arthur stood where he was, unmoving, until Stevens got in his car and drove away.

“You really would have done it,” Eames marveled softly. 

“He was threatening you,” Arthur said absently as he looked quickly around the immediate area, checking for further threats. Finding none, he stepped back inside and locked the door, and checked the safety on the Beretta. 

Yusuf stood with his hands on his hips. “Thanks, mate,” he said, taking out a handkerchief to briefly mop his brow. Arthur nodded. Eames, meanwhile, stood with his arms folded, watching Arthur with a kind of awe. Yusuf stared at Eames for a moment, scoffed, and clapped him on the shoulder as he went back to the kitchen.

“Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t _want_ to shoot him. I’ve had enough shooting people in my life. I prefer shooting targets these days.” The fading adrenaline rush was leaving Arthur a little shaky. Eames walked toward him, put his arms around him; after a moment Arthur returned the embrace. 

“My hero,” Eames whispered, a smile in his voice.

“I hate to interrupt,” Yusuf called from the kitchen, “but we’ll have to find another location, Eames, I don’t want to be faffing about here if Davis decides he needs to personally ensure his message was received.”

“Right, right.” Eames let Arthur go, and sighed. “I’ll get my things and stay with Arthur tonight, and you can go stay with your cousin in Knightsbridge. I’m sure she’ll be glad to fix up the spare room for you.” 

Yusuf sighed loudly. “Could have been staying with her the entire time, better than this rat-infested--” His words were lost in a clattering of pots and pans.

\-------

“So. What’s next?” Arthur asked.

“We can call room service for breakfast,” Eames replied, looking flushed and fucked out, naked on his back amid the soft, rumpled sheets. “In fact, let’s do, I’m starving.”

“I mean aside from that. For us. I need to fly home soon, Eames.”

“Ah.” Eames’ face fell and he sighed, and then attempted to look resigned. “You know, I’ve some loose ends to tie up around here, love. I’m not exactly sure when I can join you, I’m sorry.”

Hiding his dismay, Arthur layered himself on top of Eames, pressing his face into the crook of the man’s neck. “I’ll miss you,” he finally said, voice muffled, inhaling Eames’ scent and absorbing his warmth. He was still a bit sweaty.

“I know, love. I’ll miss you too. Hopefully when I get this done I can spend a nice long time with you without much worry.” Eames stroked a palm down his back. “I’ll keep in touch, of course. Won’t make you hunt me down again.”

Arthur asked, wondering, “Do you ever live in one place very long?”

Eames shrugged. “Not really. If I didn’t have… hobbies… that required me to keep moving, I imagine I’d come up with excuses to hop about from place to place. Never did much like being sedentary.”

“I could use some moving and shaking,” Arthur admitted after a moment. “Change of scenery.”

“Moving and shaking, eh?” Eames said, teasing, wriggling to shake the bed underneath Arthur, who chuckled and softly nipped at his ear.

\-------

“Eames is taking you to Paris for your birthday, huh?” Ariadne grinned at him.

“I was going to tell you,” Arthur said, shrugging helplessly.

“Someone was going to have to tell me eventually. I’m the one who looks after your cat while you’re gone.”

“I told her,” Eames said, walking past their counter with Arthur’s coffee, winking. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a big mouth.”

“Gimme that,” Arthur said, taking his coffee. Eames mock-pouted and leaned in for his customary kiss, which lasted a bit longer than was strictly necessary. Ariadne cleared her throat. It was like old times, although Eames hadn’t worked at the range in quite some time. Arthur still did, part time, but he’d be leaving soon too.

“Anyway, what if it’s not really for his birthday?” Eames asked. “It so happens there are some important things happening in the art world in Paris.” He grinned at Arthur, who grinned back, enjoying the little conspiracy between them. Ariadne didn’t need to know that Eames’ involvement in the art world wasn’t entirely aboveboard.

“I never see you guys anymore,” Ariadne complained, but she looked pleased and bright-eyed as she counted off the places Arthur and Eames had visited together -- the places they’d told her about, at least. “Cancún, Montreal, Belize, London, Antwerp, Madrid….” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Who knew Eames was some… international jetsetter?”

Arthur scoffed, and took a sip of his coffee. “He’s got to hustle to keep me interested.”

Eames, who was also sipping coffee, nearly choked, but recovered quickly. “Ari, dear, you know you can come visit anytime once we’re moved to New York and settled in, after we’re back from Paris.”

“I know. Thanks,” she said, looking wistful. “New York. Jeez, I can’t wait to get out of this dump and go somewhere, get my master’s in architecture.” 

“Dump, huh?” Cobb said as he walked by.

“Yes, dump. You heard me,” Ariadne called after him as he went to his office. He offered a laugh in reply, unbothered.

“First things first, Ari. Help the customers at the rifle counter,” Arthur said, grinning.

\-------

Arthur was aware of dim morning light and a warm, sleep-smelling weight, which lowered onto him with a muffled sigh before he felt a short beard scraping his neck and cheek. “Happy birthday, darling,” Eames murmured, low and rumbly, apparently naked from the feel of him.

“Wanna sleep,” Arthur protested, wrapping his arms around Eames all the same.

“I know.” Eames noisily kissed his cheek. “But I’ve just spoken to Bertrand and he reckons he’s tracked down that Prussian rifle you’ve been talking about incessantly.”

Arthur felt more awake at that. “Mm, good,” he said, and stifled a yawn. “Gotta call him after breakfast. Good birthday present.”

“All right, Bertrand really did call about the rifle, but I have to tell you,” Eames said, kissing his ear, “the real reason I woke you up is so that you could shag me right proper.” He sat up a bit. “You won’t even have to do anything, I’ll just ride you.”

“That is a better birthday present,” Arthur commented. “Although that rifle does come with a ramrod.” He waggled his brows.

Eames, obtaining lube from the nightstand, gave him a look. “Well, I come with a ramrod too, as it happens.”

“By all means, have your way with me,” Arthur said, and Eames started slicking him up. Arthur tilted his hips, watching. “Always waking me up and telling me to fuck you,” he teased. Intent on his task, Eames hummed in reply, and gave him a squeeze.

Evidently impatient, Eames lowered himself onto his cock, and Arthur took a breath, reaching to spread his hands over Eames’ thighs as he was slowly taken in. “Hey. Love you,” Arthur said, and Eames looked up to meet his gaze.

Skin pink, eyes dark, Eames broke into a wide, fond smile, making Arthur’s heart skip a beat. “Love you too, Arthur.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this off and on for years now, and it's bittersweet finally getting it posted. Thanks to Liz, Julia, and Bára for all your help in reading this over!


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